


Well, All the Love From Me

by PhoenixDragon



Series: Soul to Squeeze: Pitstop on the Farewell Tour [2]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Crossover, Dark, Gen, Mild Language, References to Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-27
Updated: 2012-04-27
Packaged: 2017-11-04 09:55:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/392533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixDragon/pseuds/PhoenixDragon





	Well, All the Love From Me

**~Well, All the Love From Me~**

  


She don't like other women, she likes whips and chains.

_The old Trans Am screamed as the Doctor threw her into over-drive, allowing her back wheels to drift, spraying gravel and salt as Dean whooped in the passenger side, exhaustion becoming exhilaration as the alien put the aging vehicle through its paces, clutch and shift working in a smooth blur as the wreck spun on a 180 degree angle. The demons surrounding the car howled, falling away as salt and rock hit them with the speed of bullets._

She likes cocaine and flippin' out with great Danes.  
She's about all I can handle, it's too much for my brain.

 _The Doctor was grinning, even as he looked more pale and exhausted than ever, deep grey hollowing his eyes, blue tint to his lips, his skin the pale off-white that suited ghosts more than living beings; though his gaze was clearer than it had been since Dean and Sam had rescued him from the field over two weeks ago. He looked manic,_ wild _– pure joy rolling off of him in waves. Dean had a feeling they were both in their element, danger and terror at their heels, freedom right in front of them._

It's got me under pressure,  
It's got me under pressure.

_“Got ‘em on the run, Doc!” Dean hollered over the whine of the engine, radio blaring at top volume. He laughed and was pleasantly surprised when the Doctor joined in, the edge of hysteria riding in the crack of their voices; adrenaline, fear, and bone-deep weariness plaguing them both (and maybe no small amount of pain on the Doctor’s side), but they laughed as if compelled to; the situation anything but funny and only made hilarious because of that little fact alone._

_The Doctor licked merriment from his lips, eyes crinkling at the corners as he popped the clutch, letting her spin forward, mowing down the two demons in front of them not smart enough to get out of the way -_

I'm gonna give her a message,  
Here's what I'm gonna say:  
"It's all over."

_The old Trans Am leaping forward like a panther, back wheels catching and throwing more gravel as they accelerated out of the hotel parking lot, the grinding howl of the engines distorting the howls of the demons as they tried (and failed) to pursue them, their forms fading in the distance as the Doctor walked the car up to 120, before whipping out his funny pen and depressing the button. The pen made an eerie whining noise and popped apart like shrapnel in the alien’s hand –_

(Dean didn’t see that, though – not yet, not until much later –)

 _but the old car responded with yet another roar, radio squealing static in brief bursts as the car pushed for another 30 miles an hour. Dean clung to his seat with steel fingers, throat raw from screaming – though whether it was terror or joy, he couldn’t tell; and with this much pure_ feeling _pulsing through him, really he didn’t care._

She might get out a nightstick  
And hurt me real, real bad

_The Doctor was laughing, the sound giddy and not too sane; stupid bow-tie loose and dangling around his neck, button-up only half-buttoned, braces still loose on his too-thin shoulders –_

(While blood flowed from his wrist and fingers, but Dean still hadn’t seen that – and ohhh, how Winchester would curse about it later –)

 _his presence so alien and yet so_ perfect _that Dean felt another surge of odd emotion, though it was not unwelcome by any means._

 _This was what it meant to be alive – this right_ here _…_

 

  
**SPN~DW~SPN~DW~SPN**   


 

The quiet was starting to get to him, even the radio's babble -

_Latest brands of furniture at low, low prices! This weekend only!_

Wasn't enough to fill the silence. The Doctor's presence was understated in a way Dean thought could never be possible, leaving him to stop and check his passenger every few minutes to make sure he hadn't faded away like a ghost.

The Doctor didn't even acknowledge him (odd in itself), too busy staring at the passing scenery to even give Dean an encouraging smile, a slight that was lonely and infuriating all at once. Dean felt more like he had kidnapped the man than invited him along for a car ride – and he had no idea where to even _begin_ this conversation he didn't even want to have.

' _Shoulda brought Sam along anyway, he knows how to talk, fill in the gaps – man, I_ suck _at this sharing and caring shit._ '

But even his inner snark was half-hearted and he left off thinking about it too much or he'd start wishing the Doctor away again – and he had a funny feeling if he did that, the Doctor would comply. And likely he'd never see him again.

So he forced himself to occupy the silence by thinking on the seven ways one can detect a demon, and mentally stripped the Colt, putting it back together piece by piece while listening to his girl, every squeak, rattle or chuffing noise telling him what he needed to work on next. Thankfully, even with the beating she took, he didn't have much he had left to do – fine tuning the carburetor, check the loose head (at least that's what it sounded like) and put more water (just a tad) in her radiator. The parts the Doctor put in were a smooth hum he had gotten used to over the past year or so, so he ticked through them, but dismissed wondering how he could fix them. The Doctor would tell him if they needed adjustment.

If the Doctor ever talked to him, that was.

Ten minutes after they left Singer Salvage, the silence from the alien became too much – Dean's thoughts spinning around the past adventures they'd had and not enough on the future that he was walking into. The radio's inane prattle -

_Seriously, seven minutes of commercials?!_

Was giving him a headache and the road was starting to become a nonsensical blur as anxiety gripped him; the Doctor's weird mood crawling beneath his skin and settling like an itch that he couldn't quite reach.

He contemplated turning around.

 _He wants to go so bad,_ let _him!_

He contemplated pulling over. He thought about flooring it and seeing if he could garner a response that way (a fussy Doctor was better than a quiet one). Then he thought about just leaning on the brakes and chewing him out for being a downer and what the fuck was his problem _anyway_? Dean's company beneath him now?

He did none of these things, though he badly wanted to.

Another two minutes crawled by and he could feel a war between worry and temper start raging. A glance at the Doctor showed him that the man hadn't moved since they had pulled off, barely a twitch; and if he was breathing, it wasn't readily apparent.

Dean leaned over and snapped off the radio with a twist, taking a deep breath to get started with a conversation that would end badly (he knew) and wishing for the five hundredth time that he was good with words. He could never get his thoughts, his ideas across properly – and it had blown up in his face time and time again. He knew this was another situation where it could go wrong (and very quickly) but he was never one to be stopped by a challenge – nor could he ever let a feeling this heavy pass without comment.

He was just about to open his mouth (and likely say the wrong thing) when the Doctor suddenly spoke, his voice almost harsh with the sudden reverb of sound in the previously silent car and Dean flinched -

_hands still steady at the wheel, foot never wavering on the gas pedal_

in response, his own thoughts having been so filled with what he was going to say, he didn't anticipate any other voice than his own.

"Turn left at the next intersection." his murmur low, but startling, body still motionless, leaning into the passenger door. Dean would have thought he'd imagined it except for the spike to his heart rate and the drift of the Impala's wheels; mildly shocked and cursing himself for relaxing his guard to where he _could_ be shocked like that.

"Doctor that way just leads to -" Dean started to protest.

"Left...please." Firm, brooking no argument, and Winchester had to bite back a sarcastic retort.

"Fine," Dean sighed. "Left it is."

He blew through the stop-sign seconds later, not even questioning how the Doctor even knew of the turn-off, noting how the Time-Lord didn't even protest his 'lack of regard for traffic laws' (he could almost hear it in his head, too); wrenching the wheel to the left and smiling to himself when the Chevy followed through without a hitch, tires churning against the road with a low whirr as she shimmied at a sharp angle and straightened once more, rolling along like she owned the pavement.

The Doctor didn't seem to notice -

_Thought he loved her_

face still turned to the window, hands still in his lap; their restlessness absent – calm as their owner.

"Doctor -"

The Time-Lord pulled the sonic out of his inner pocket and aimed it at the dashboard, screwdriver whirring softly to itself as he depressed the button. He only held it for a few seconds before snapping it open with a practiced flick of his wrist, turning slightly more towards Dean to peer at the reading (all for show, Dean knew – but sheer habit), before sliding it back into his pocket, not acknowledging Dean had spoken. The alien turned back to the window and the reflection thrown back for a moment had Dean chewing his lower lip, unsure more than ever how to proceed but knowing he had to. He had never seen the Time-Lord look so desolate and lost, not even when things were at their worst.

' _That's it, I gotta say something about this..._ '

"So...what does the sonic say?" Not what he intended to start out with, but it was comprised of actual words, so it would have to do.

"Parts are all at peak efficiency," the Doctor rumbled, voice still pitched low as if he was reciting the facts to himself more than to Dean. "No major anomalies. Though...was this car in an accident?"

Dean blinked and snuck a glance at him -

 _Back still turned, forehead rested against the glass, distorted view of closed eyes – tired? - slight frown, too pale...what the_ fuck _..._

"Doctor, I told you about Cas and..." Dean took a deep breath, the headache that was trying to make itself known thumping away just behind his eyes and he hated repeating himself and wasn't he listening the _first_ time?

 _He always listens...what is going_ on _?_

"So you did," the Doctor said casually. "Sorry, I remember I...I'm sorry."

"Stop _saying_ that!" Dean roared – and anger won over worry just like that. But that wasn't true either; fear (old, tired, familiar) thumped through his veins and he had to shout or he'd go crazy. It just wasn't enough that his brother was acting funny, Bobby was beginning to look so old, Cas was...was – it just wasn't enough, was it? Then the Universe dumped a Doctor that wasn't the Doctor on him, looking just as tired and old and done-in as he felt – and he wouldn't stop acting like a stranger and it was so familiar and new and _infuriating_ -

"Just... _stop_ ," Dean breathed, trying to rein himself in and further depressed by the fact the Doctor didn't even flinch, but his eyes in the window were scrunched tighter, frown deeper as he likely kicked himself for his blunder. He was good at that; Dean knew that because _Dean_ was good at that. And because once upon a time, Dean had known the Doctor.

He'd walk through fire for the man, didn't he get that?

"What is going on with you? And don't tell me it's nothing. I know it isn't – why are you here?"

It sounded confrontational, hostile and angry, but Dean was just too tired to smooth it over. He knew he shouldn't be angry at the Time-Lord; he hadn't really done anything wrong besides land in Singer Salvage at the worst time. He wished he could take it back, he wished he could sound less angry just because the Doctor would be forced to respond to that alone; he knew the man would just take the anger and hostility and roll with it, never protest it -

' _Because that's what_ I _do_.'

They were so alike and yet so vastly _different_ it staggered him. But it made him feel anchored, content and warm; like he was with Castiel…

" _Doctor..._ "

"I don't know," the Time-Lord answered honestly. He seemed to steel himself and sat back in the seat, fingers restlessly tangling together and apart again as he looked anywhere but at Dean, that ever-present frown marring his features and making him look so, so old.

Dean hated that look.

He waited another beat, but it seemed the Doctor wasn’t going to elaborate further, his eyes already drifting back towards the window – shutting Dean out and _dammit_ , he was not going to have that. There was no point in coming out here just to turn around with no answers.

The hard way it would have to be then.

Dean took a deep breath and slowed the car down – a good idea anyhow, since they had run into a dirt track; checking to make sure the way was clear before turning to look at the Doctor, knuckles white on the wheel. He’d have to be rougher than he would like, rougher than Sam would have been, but if that’s what it took –

“ _Why are you here?_ ”

“I don’t _know_ ,” the Doctor retorted mildly –

‘ _Still won’t look at me…_ ’

“Look – aren’t we supposed to be checking her parts?”

“You didn’t come here to check her parts,” Dean countered, willing the Doctor to look at him . He was rewarded with a side-ways glance, the assessment quick before he was dismissed again.

And this was getting to be _bullshit_.

‘ _Fucking_ look _at me, asshole._ ’

“No, I didn’t,” the alien responded, still calm, too calm, but he was taking more interest in the conversation, rising to the challenge in Dean’s voice. When he turned to look at Dean, his eyes were hooded, thoughts hidden. “I really wasn’t supposed to be here at all – something from your expression, you might not be adverse to. So why do you want me to stay, if you really didn’t want me here in the first place?”

“Don’t deflect,” Dean shot back. “And don’t make this about me.”

“Ahhh, I see. So you _don’t_ want me here.” The Doctor’s smile was chilly and a tad too resigned for Dean’s liking. “Look, we’ll just turn around and head back then, alright? Sounds like you need to adjust her carburetor, maybe put a bit more water in her -”

“We aren’t going back until you talk to me.”

“You don’t want me here, I didn’t _plan_ on being here. So why are you trying so badly to keep me here? There is nothing to _talk_ about!” Exasperated now, his hands rose to join the conversation, fingers splayed in a beseeching manner as he stared Dean down – a dare if there ever was one.

“Sure. No problem. Nothing to talk about.” Dean nodded, actively looking around for a place to pull over. From the way things were going, this was going to be a rough one – he just wasn’t sure anymore who it was going to be harder on. “ _Right_. So if I take you back, the TARDIS is just going to let you in and you’ll both take off because _obviously_ you’ve accomplished what you set out to do here.”

“I just told you! I don’t _know_ what I’m doing here,” the Doctor protested.

“ _Liar_.”

“Rule Number One, Dean.” The Time-Lord’s voice dropped in tone, smile fading fast as he let himself be pulled into what was shaping up to be a good throw-down. “I’ve _always_ been open about that.”

The very fact he was allowing himself to be drawn into an argument was telling, and it was starting to make Dean feel lost and uncomfortable. This was not behavior he was used to; this was not a reaction he was expecting. The Doctor was meeting confrontation with confrontation…but there was no spark, no _energy_ behind it.

“But you’ve never lied to _me_ before,” Dean replied softly, disturbed by the lack of fire in the Doctor’s manner. “Or hidden things from me - and you are definitely hiding something. Do you think I‘m stupid?”

“I’ve _never_ implied that Dean Winchester,” the Doctor gritted out, stung by Dean’s accusation. His hands fisted in his lap and then relaxed, mouth a thin line like Dean had struck a blow he didn’t expect. Two deep breaths and the Doctor steadied, his expression going blank; but his eyes were narrowed, trying to track where the conversation was headed.

“Really? You’d be the first.” Dean shrugged. “You show up here, you act all weird, you say all the wrong things and you are starting to scare me.”

The Doctor flinched but didn’t respond, looking for all the world like he wished he had never stepped foot in the Impala – and that hurt more than Dean was willing to admit to himself. Knowing just about anything may set the alien off but having come too far to back out now, he switched tactics, going for a gentler tone.

“What’s going on?” Dean questioned, his voice just a touch softer, pitched low to match the seriousness of what he was asking.. “She landed you here for a reason and She never does anything by chance - so let’s have it.”

“It’s really not that important, Dean.” The Doctor shrugged, trying to smile but failing. His tone was light, but there was something just _behind_ it… “Nothing earthshaking going on: no shape-shifters, demons, Daleks, universal apocalypses -”

“I didn’t ask if it was _important_ ,” Dean interrupted, leaning towards exasperated again, but trying his damnedest to rein himself in. Getting into an argument was not what he wanted, but it looked like the Doctor was determined to push it that far.

‘Fuck _. Why do you have to be so – ?!_ Fuck this.’

Dean swung the Impala over towards the meager shoulder, slamming on her brakes – _sorry, baby_ – before turning to face off with the Doctor, the Time-Lord’s steady stare and neutral expression just begging for Dean to hit him. Instead, Dean took a deep ( _very deep_ ) breath and tried again, working to keep himself just this side of pissed off. His resolve wavered, however, as the Doctor’s eyes went blank again, his whole demeanor screaming of detachment, disconnecting from the conversation altogether.

“I didn’t ask if it was important – in _your estimation_. I just asked what was going on. I have a feeling I know what you are going to tell me and I just want you to be honest. I want you to be my _friend_ and tell me what the fuck is _happening_!”

“Dean...” Calm again – too, too calm – and Dean really wished he’d fucking _blink_.

“ _Doctor_.” Two could play that game.

“Turn around,” The Doctor commanded softly, his voice smooth and steady, but just underneath there was a hard edge. Dean _wanted_ that edge, something he could understand and relate to.

He deliberately ignored the tone of the Time-Lord’s voice, the urge to obey a direct order over-ridden by the more pressing need to dig deeper. He wanted to be angry that the Doctor had pushed that particular button, but he understood the need for control. Dean was removing control from the alien’s hands – and neither of them responded well to that. When backed into a corner, one used every weapon available to fight one’s way back out. He might not like the tactic, but he could get behind the idea of it.

Too bad he was in an order-bucking mood today.

“No.” Simple, direct, precise.

“I said turn _around_ ,” the Doctor barked, voice thin with something Dean almost wished he didn’t have to contemplate, but the Doctor’s sheer resistance told him he was hitting pay dirt.

 _Steady, Dean-o – don’t push him_ too _hard…_

“And I’m fucking telling you _no_ ,” Dean shot back, the words harsh even as he tried to keep his voice mild.

“I know what’s happening in your world, your time-line right now.” The Doctor’s voice dropped, the rough edge of a plea bleeding through his tone – _don’t do this, don’t make me do this_ – and Dean had to steel himself against it. The Time-Lord’s eyes were hauntingly intense, their focus like an ache across Dean’s skin. “You don’t...you don’t need this, Dean. Trust me -”

“You’re the _Doctor_ ,” Dean filled in, the words smearing into a mocking tone, even as he wanted to scream at him, shake him into spilling what would make his eyes look so, so _old_. “Kinda making it hard to trust you at the moment, Doc.”

“Oh, so it’s going to be sarcasm, is it?” The Time-Lord reacted like he had been slapped, physically pulling back from Dean as his face went blank and cold again. “Turn around -”

“Fuck off. We’re staying right here,” Dean informed him, hands sliding off the wheel with forced nonchalance, one hand twitching towards the ignition before he thought better of it, the Chevy’s steady rumble a source of strength. “You can try to walk back, but if you think I won’t stoop to knocking you out, you’ve got another think coming.”

“I’m not even going to pass comment on that statement,” the Doctor hissed, and there, right there, Dean could see a peek of the On-Coming Storm: the power of a pissed-off Time-Lord a threat he felt down to the marrow of his bones. “You know better than that, Dean Winchester -”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t give it a try,” Dean shrugged.

“Why are you _pushing_?” Exasperated again, the Doctor’s hands flew up to punctuate the question. His animation was a relief, even as his resistance told Dean more than he ever wanted to know; insides heavy with all the implications behind the Doctor’s cagey manner. “What does it matter to you, anyway? It’s not like I’m particularly useful to you at this juncture.”

“And I’m not going to dignify _that_ statement,” Dean replied, shocked and more than a little dismayed. “Is that what you think of me…after all this time?”

The Doctor let his hands drop, frown creeping in above his eyes.

“That’s what I am to most people…yes.” His honesty was a weary punch to the sternum, even with the lack of heat behind it.

“I’m not ‘ _most people_ ’,” Dean pointed out. His anger resurfaced when the Doctor shot him a cold half-smile, the Storm still brewing underneath the placid surfaces of the alien’s eyes.

“I beg to differ there.” It was said with mild implacability, but the dismissive tone of it had Dean throttling back before he could open his mouth, fury warring with common sense for a fraction of a moment.

Dean waited a beat or two, taking note of the subtle tells: the Doctor licking his lips, eyes falling closed as if his own retort had hurt him, not Dean, before seeking out the stillness beyond the window. When Dean started to speak again, the Doctor flinched in his seat, but stubbornly refused to face him, pulling away even as Dean tried to reel him in.

“I can’t believe you just said that to me, after everything we’ve been through,” Dean picked his words carefully, trying to control the urge to lash out so he wouldn’t lose further ground with the alien. “And don’t start that, I know you – the _you_ sitting right here. We’ve helped each other, saved each other – at least twice from my memory -”

“Three times -”

“ _Shut up_. You know damn well what I meant. And you should already know I’ll have your back through anything!” Dean was starting to lose his temper, though every instinct warned him not to. He wanted the Doctor to look at him, engage him, fight back, be the _Doctor_ , instead of this stranger who just happened to look like him. He was aware he was spinning uselessly without his compass, but he couldn’t hold back any more. He had to make each word count, he had to _reach_ the man somehow. “You’ve always backed me up when I needed you. But this time, it isn’t about me, is it? Hey, are you _trying_ to piss me off?”

“I don’t know,” the Doctor said vaguely. Finally, he turned to look at Dean, the iciness in his expression only exceeded by the frost in his tone. “Does putting matters into perspective ‘piss you off’, Dean?”

“Does someone actually giving a shit piss _you_ off?”

_Holy shit…_

Dean blinked as something flickered in the Doctor’s expression, his ‘back off’ stance wavering for just a moment, as if Dean had startled him somehow. Winchester blew out a breath, trying to remain calm as the answer landed in his lap, startling in its simplicity. It had been staring him in the face all this time, every action or reaction from the Time-Lord now astonishingly transparent.

“ _Fuck_ , Sam was _right_ ,” Dean croaked, a terrible chill shivering through his bones as he watched the Doctor scramble to shore up his defenses, ready to retreat at any given moment.

The Time-Lord’s retort was dipped in acid, though his usual fire was still lacking, almost as if he was too tired to keep this dance up for much longer. It hurt a hell of a lot more than it should; it hurt worse than the words falling from his lips, the intent behind them – _stop pushing, leave me alone_ – more heartbreaking than what was actually said. Dean _knew_ this tactic, he knew it well, and he tried to prepare himself, even as each word landed like a punch.

“In what sense?” the Doctor hissed, reacting on instinct alone, lashing out to prevent Dean from thinking it through. “It is very rare you two seem to be right, nowadays.”

“Stop that,” Dean fired back, the urge to shake him stilled only by the sense he was treading a narrow line. Anything could topple the Time-Lord over the edge and make him shut down again. Dean had to play this _just right_.

“Stop that shit right now! What the _fuck_ is your problem -”

He knew the second the words were out of his mouth he had gone too far. The Doctor’s lips thinned in fury. That remoteness, that damnable distance Dean had been trying to pull him away from slammed back between them with the speed of a striking viper. He had to swallow back an apology, knowing that would only push the Doctor further away, and the Time-Lord might as well be on another continent from the way he was staring Dean down. He played his pawn, now it was time to play the game the way he had it set.

But again, the Doctor beat him to the punch, reacting before Dean could even attempt to make things right.

“I’m done with this conversation.” The thinly controlled anger in the Doctor’s voice thrummed under Dean’s skin, his voice mellow even as his eyes flashed a warning. “It’s very stimulating with all the foul language and sarcasm, but I’m _done_.”

Anything else he might have said was lost as he wrenched the passenger door open, lanky frame out of the Impala before Dean could blink.

‘Damn _– forgot how fast on his feet he could be._ ’ Was the breathless flicker of a thought, the Doctor gone before it was even complete.

The Time-Lord’s shoulders were high with tension as he swiftly spun away from the car, his upper body stiff with anger, hands jammed deeply into his coat pockets as he walked away. Dean’s eyes were still centered on where the Doctor had been mere seconds before, any retort dying on his lips as he watched the alien beat feet, likely heading straight back to the main road.

From there it was anyone’s guess.

Dean cursed under his breath, killing the engine and palming the keys before exiting the Chevy as fast as he could without face-planting. He hoped he wouldn’t have to run after him, because he could see this getting physical fast. The Doctor was pretty hardcore anti-violence, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t give as good as he felt he was getting…and Dean really didn’t want to feel one of the alien’s punches first hand if he could help it.

“The _hell_ you are!” He called to the Time-Lord’s retreating back, viciously satisfied when the Doctor stopped walking so fast that dust flew up from his boots – but he still hadn’t turned to face him. Not yet. “You quit avoiding the topic and pushing me away! Why do you always _do_ that?”

He had leaned up over the roof, tangling his hands together so hard his knuckles ached, trying to keep himself from following the Doctor, keep himself stilled, prepared. The Time-Lord didn’t disappoint, spinning gracefully on one heel to march back to the car, jaw set as his eyes flicked over Dean’s stance. His fury made him more alien than ever, and twice as frightening as Dean had ever imagined. He had witnessed the Doctor’s anger first-hand, but never directed at himself.

“And why do _you_ always have to _push_ ,” The Doctor seethed, drawn up to his full height (which wasn’t unimpressive from where Dean stood), Stetson throwing shadows behind his eyes as he studied Dean over the top of the Chevy. He was close enough for Dean to feel the arctic blast of his expression, but far enough away that he could still run. “Stupid – _blimey_ , you primates think you have all the answers, don’t you? How is telling you _anything_ going to help? What, _exactly_ , are you going to be able to do, Dean Winchester?”

He looked as close to actually crying as Dean had ever seen him. He also looked ready to snap – the strain around his mouth giving him that ancient look that Dean hated with all the ferocity of a burning sun. He looked so _young_ in so many ways. Dean knew that was an illusion, he knew the Doctor had more years at his back than he could possibly comprehend (even with his knowledge of angels and how old they were/could be), but his eyes generally bled a warmth that made his perceived youth more of a reality than his actual years.

At times like this, though…

‘ _Keep it calm, Dean, you played your cards – time to up the ante._ ’

“With what?” A mild retort, but it shivered that horrible look out of the Doctor’s face, so Dean felt he could chalk that up as a win.

“Quit being obtuse,” the Time-Lord sneered, voice weary even as he rejoined the dance. “It isn’t cute and it doesn’t suit you.”

“So, Sam _was_ right,” Dean pressed, letting his eyes drift away from the Doctor’s and back again.

_Keep it casual…_

“You were brought here because something is going to happen.” Dean started calmly.

“ _Nothing_ is going to _happen_ ,” a quick hiss under his breath, but his denial was falling flat.

“You are going to die,” Dean continued, heart squeezing when the Doctor tucked his chin to his chest, eyes slamming shut with a wince as if Dean had shouted it at him. “And you weren’t going to tell me…”

He didn’t know why he didn’t see it coming. Dean knew, _knew_ this whole time as he pushed and pulled at the man. Everything the Doctor didn’t want to say was forced out of him in horrible, bloody chunks; and whatever he wouldn’t _admit_ to, what he didn’t dare voice, was being pulled out of thin air and waved about like a goddamned flag. Dean was helpless to stop himself from pushing, just as the Doctor was helpless in his own need to defuse, deflect…and retaliate when poked. He was a wounded bear, and Dean was holding the shotgun, so he should have expected it when the Doctor backed up two paces in the conversation and let fly.

“ _Yes_!” His voice crackled with that previous unnamable emotion, like actually acknowledging the truth had hurt him somehow. He rallied back with venom, but the fight that Dean expected was still lacking from his voice, leaving Winchester feeling raw and vaguely unsure of his footing. “And how could you prevent it, _hmm_? Tell me - you’re racking up a great amount of wins, aren’t you, Dean? How’s Castiel?”

Dean almost staggered but caught himself in time, the twitch of the Time-Lord’s lips into a knowing smirk pushed him to react before thinking. He had been played – and quite well – but he wasn’t to know that until his mouth opened, and unfiltered words spilled out before he could stop them.

“You _bastard_ \- that’s not fair!”

“Nothing is fair, you...you _child_ , ” the Doctor rasped, looking almost viciously thrilled at Dean's outburst, deflecting the main topic with more insults – designed to throw Dean off more than anything else. “And you of all people should know this. What is it going to take to get that through your thick, ape skull? Now get in the bloody car, turn her back around and get me to my bloody _ship_ and you’ll never have to deal with me being 'unfair' to you again.”

They glared at each other over the Impala's roof, her reflective shine distorting their faces in the early evening sun, casting shadows where none should be. Dean felt the familiar pull of melancholy and took a mental step back, deliberately softening his voice – the surreality of this moment versus the ordinariness of the day making it impossible to wrap his head around the facts as he now knew them. The Doctor was going to die. He didn't seem inclined to do a damn thing about it and while he was perfectly willing to fight Dean over it, he didn't seem too moved to do the same for himself.

_Take it down a notch, but stick with the hard questions, Winchester..._

“So that’s it. You’re just gonna die and you aren’t going to _do_ anything about it?”

It came out harsher, more accusing than he intended, but the Doctor seemed to shrug off his tone with a raised eyebrow, his expression more flabbergasted than angry. But that coldness still stretched between them, making it hard to navigate the argument. He couldn’t get to the _Doctor_ inside the stranger he was looking at.

To his credit, the Doctor didn't blink or look away, but Dean drew no comfort from that. His behavior was just too bizarre to set a standard by, leaving Dean feeling around for gaps that let him see the Time-Lord for who he was, the man that Dean knew. There were too many masks and Dean just felt helpless to keep up; never mind he'd never had to do that before. The melancholy tugged at him again and he tried to breathe through it, prepare for the Doctor's next volley.

' _Ball's in your court, Doc..._ '

“You think...you think I haven’t _tried_?” The Doctor's mouth curled slightly, his expression incredulous – which Dean estimated was better than angry, but not by much. “You think I haven’t attempted to find a way around this?”

“No.” Dean sighed, the honesty heavier than he thought it would be. “No, I don’t.”

“And how would _you_ know?” The Doctor tried to inject some of the venom he had spat at him earlier, but it fell flat, sounding more sorrowful than angry; even his sarcasm faltered along with his tone. “Since you seem to be chock full of brilliant observations and genius answers today - how. would. you. _know_?”

“Because I know _you_.” Dean retorted calmly.

“Obviously, you _don’t_.”

“And I know you are scared and trying to make things easier on me by pushing me to the point where I won’t wanna see your face again.” Dean ignored the scathing jibe for what it was and cut right to the heart of the matter. “You are cutting all ties, you are going to walk right into it because you know already that a) it’s going to happen, and b) if it doesn’t, we all what? Go ‘kablooey’? Tell me if I’m missing the mark here.”

There was a moment of silence, the Doctor visibly trying to collect himself as Dean's words arrowed home. The Time-Lord shook his head in mute denial, his face pale, eyes shut, locking himself away from Dean's gentle watchfulness. His frank statements seemed to hit a lot harder than the Doctor had shored himself up for. It hurt, watching him try to pull himself together – a man Dean had always known to be prepared for anything, left shaken by the side of the road by a few well thought-out sentences. The Doctor seemed to come to a decision, and avoidance (again) seemed to be the driving force.

“Dean, I –“ He took a deep breath, licking his lips and tried again, his eyes carefully neutral, giving nothing away. “For the last time…get in the car, start the bloody thing and take me back to my TARDIS.”

Dean blinked placidly at him, refusing to move an inch, hands folded over one another, every muscle tense as he braced for an unknowable reaction.

The Doctor's features waffled between disbelief and fury, unable to find an emotion to settle into. He looked just as lost as Dean felt, but he couldn't allow himself to feel pity for him. The truth hurt, the truth _stunk_ more often than not – and to be hammered with it and know the other person could see right through you…

“Didn't you hear me?” The Time-Lord hissed, voice thick with turmoil. “Get. in. the. fucking. _car_! Turn this blasted vehicle around _now_!”

Dean blinked again: the rare touch of foul language showing the Doctor's hand, even as Dean felt half-goaded into compliance by it. It was a ruse, he knew, just one more tactic to avoid having a conversation the Time-Lord wasn't prepared for.

Dean let his mouth twitch slightly into a humorless smile, relaxing into the Chevy's roof as though he intended to take root there. Every tell, every gesture sent a resounding 'no' without him having to say a word to back that up. Instead, he leaned towards the Doctor, pleased when the alien held his ground – even as he wished he'd just give a little, just this once...

“Huh. I must be doing well, since I’m hitting sore points already,” Dean remarked drolly. “That usually takes me awhile.”

“No, it doesn’t -”

“Shut up,” Dean returned smoothly. “It’s not working, Doctor -”

“This conversation is _pointless_.” The Doctor spun on his heel, pushing himself away from the Impala with a little more force than necessary as he set to pacing, hands fluttering like startled birds as he spoke. “I did not come out here to-to be _interrogated_ by a _child_! I will not have my decisions questioned and picked apart by the likes of _you_ -”

“And who would you, exactly, want to question your decisions?” Dean asked, keeping his tone light, even as his words were edge with ice. “‘ _Ohh, I’m the Doctor - no one can surpass my knowledge and vast intelligence, and I’m always right!_ ’, yeah? So, is it wrong when someone who cares about you, who considers you part of his stupid primate _family_ questions why you are committing suicide?”  



End file.
